


barter system

by iniquiticity



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blowjobs, Caleb Kind Of Tries To Fix It?, Controlling Behavior, Episode 120 Spoilers, M/M, Manipulation, Nefarious Relationship Dynamics, Not Super Healthy Sex Interactions, Resentful Essek Theylss, The Difference Between Us is Thinner Than A Razor, Wizards and Their Trauma, transactional sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-03
Updated: 2021-02-03
Packaged: 2021-03-14 15:06:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29173122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iniquiticity/pseuds/iniquiticity
Summary: A changed Essek has information that Caleb feels could be useful to his personal goals. He doesn't have much to trade, but he does have his body.Essek is open to that negotiation.
Relationships: Essek Thelyss/Caleb Widogast
Comments: 12
Kudos: 171





	barter system

**Author's Note:**

> the pickle brand, my friends: 
> 
> Much of the fandom: Essek is a changed drow now and is going to be a good person!
> 
> Me: Essek is resentful of being abandoned and he's going to hold it against them, ESPECIALLY caleb.
> 
> big list of thanks for this one: kate, nim, duck (who contributed some fairly exact descriptions), cranes (who, when i said 'who will write this?' said 'you will,' so i did, i guess?), kay (who was on the receiving end of the introduction 'we've never met but how do you think caleb dirty talks?'), and lastly and most intently cal, my very lovely beta, who gave me all the attention i could ask for (which was a lot), and held my hand at many places and improved this story in many more places and resuscitated it back from the dead in many many more places. ya'll i am blessed. i hope you feel blessed by this work too.
> 
> This diverts from canon in Episode 120, and the Mighty Nein decide to seek Essek's help rather than travelling with the Tombtakers. While the other Mighty Nein do make an appearance in this story, the primary characters are Essek and Caleb.
> 
> as always, i can be reached on tumblr at [iniquiticity](http://iniquiticity.tumblr.com), or on twitter at [@iniquiticity](https://twitter.com/iniquiticity)

*

"Shadowhand," Oreth said, bowing their head, as they stepped into the dark magical dome that covered the yurt Essek never used, "The party you spoke about arrived, but they have one more - a dwarf. A guide, I think."

“The Mighty Nein,” he said, and when he said it he felt the gentle ripple of anger that always came with thinking about them now. A firbolg, two empire humans, a waste wanderer, a halfling, a half-orc and a blue tiefling. He took a breath and smoothed over his face. He let his hands rest behind his back and wished for his goggles and face covering, which would have let him be politely irritated without having to hide it. There were many upsides to being a drow, but at least orcs like Oreth, standing head and shoulders taller than him and even broader than usual in all the furs they wore, could pay less attention to their facial expressions.

Touching the delicate lattice of anger over his heart, Essek wondered how they had suckered in the guide. He wondered how they would abandon them. Almost certainly not to the frozen plains - maybe to an empire settlement? The Mighty Nein preferred you alive - just abandoned and wondering what was supposed to be the next step, picking up the pieces.

"Thank you," he said, drawing his attention back and nodding his head in a dismissal. Oreth was a good second-in-command. They had previously been a member of the Lens, but had expertly managed their amnesis to hide that fact for their own gain. The Dynasty's obsession with the Luxon and the theocracy had made it impossible for them to resume the work that they had wanted, they had told him. It had been a very easy choice to become allies, even before Essek had become Shadowhand.

Even so, he’d been surprised that Oreth had so readily volunteered to come out to Eiselcross with him. He had told them a little about the Nein, and Caleb, though to the best of his knowledge Oreth still believed he had not been involved in the disappearance or reappearance of either of the Luxon Beacons. They had regular discussions on whether Den Tasithar would ever recover from Taskhand Adeen's blasphemy; Oreth had many insights on how a Den could recover favor when it was lost. 

Some things you kept to yourself, lest ex-Cerberus Assembly wizards learn them and use those things against you. Sometimes blue tieflings made you parasols and you thought, in a ludicrous moment of weakness, that they cared.

What would he say to them? They came to beg for his help, of course. They were in trouble and needed him. They were desperate about this Nonagon - a new word - and things had gone wrong. Of course they did, with the Mighty Nein. They had gone wrong and it was oh-so-convenient he was there to fix them, and when it was resolved they would be perfectly happy to disappear off into the world again to do gods-know-what.

Especially Caleb, he thought. He took a breath and brushed fingers over the elegant fur covering his forearms. _You were not born with venom in your veins. You learned it._

"Didn't I?" he murmured to himself, "I did learn about festering from you, didn't I?"

"Essek?" Oreth asked, casual this time. They had settled in the Oreth-sized chair and were working through a bag of jerky.

"Nothing," he murmured. It would be better this time. They would not -- corner him, how they had. They were distressed and he held the cards. Another deep breath, and he pulled his hood low over his forehead. Next, the face covering that wicked his breath away from his mouth and nose, and then pulled his goggles over his eyes, keeping the bright and reflected sun safely dimmed. There were gloves, and another coat not needed in the dome.

Even so, the wind cut through his many layers when he slipped through the magical wall. With a thought he turned the outside of the dome ice-white, to make it nearly invisible against the sky and glaciers of Foren. A glance over to the digsite of the Aeor crater and the various bits of archaeological miscellania that surrounded it, and then in the direction Oreth had pointed.

We really need you! Jester would say, all pleading. It was a very good act. You're our friend, she would say, before disappearing back with her actual friends.

There's good things you can do, Caduceus would say, as if it wasn't so convenient that lined up exactly what they needed.

At least Beauregard, Fjord, and Veth had been clear and evident with their suspicions. And Yasha, quiet, waiting.

And Caleb. Caleb, he thought, turning the name over his head as he scanned the horizon. These people can change you, he had said. Ah yes, but they stayed with you, did they not, suffering Widogast? Or did they leave you on that boat, not caring about the things you needed to do? 

You think you know me, he could say to Caleb. You think we are the same. 

Look at you, confused, lost. Desperate for aid. Look at me, the legions I command, the artifacts I have already found, the power I control. See how you struggle.

Not a razor, Widogast. The whole long length of a broadsword and you are the blunt pommel and I am the pinnacle-tip.

Another breath that nearly froze his lips and his tongue and his throat. Behind the dark goggles he could see their shapes appear on the horizon, partially obscured by snow.

"Essek?" Jester shouted at him, trying to figure out if it was him under the clothes. He watched her eyes go down his body and see his hovering feet. "Essek!" Delighted, this time. She ran towards him, her footsteps loud and sinking deep in the snow. The guide was wincing.

The tightness of her hug knocked the wind out of him. He could feel the power of her muscles, hidden under her elaborate winter garb. She should have still been cold, with so few layers, he thought.

"Hello, Jester," he said, when she released him.

"Essek, this is Dagen," she said, introducing him to their guide, a dwarf with an enormous amount of hair. Certainly a long-time Eiselcross resident, based on his haggardness. Skittish-looking. Empire-affiliated, he assumed.

"Hello, Dagen," he said. Dagen grunted a response he didn't bother to figure out.

There was Caleb, buried under all the layers. Blue eyes, bits of sweat frozen into the lashes, watched him. The deep lines around those eyes had gotten deeper. That was the only visible part of him, very wisely. Caleb looked far away, which made perfect sense, as he probably would have preferred to never see Essek again after ripping through him.

"Fancy meeting you here," Caleb said.

"This is a mighty fine coincidence," Beauregard said, after.

"Come in," he said," and gestured towards the dome, making it slightly more visible, to their various noises of surprise. He stepped inside without waiting for them, with a twist of his fingers he conjured the magical doorway to his preferred lodgings.

Caduceus came in first. "Oh!" he said, as the temperature rose a little bit, to his evident delight. He noticed Oreth. "It's nice to meet you too."

Oreth grunted. This, of course, did not bother Caduceus in the slightest.

"It's kind of cramped in here,” Yasha said, appearing next.

“We won't be staying."

"You have a magical tower just like Caleb's? Does it also have like ten thousand cats?" Jester asked.

An eyebrow went up underneath his hood. Caleb appeared in the dome.

"Caleb, Essek has a tower like yours."

"Well," Caleb replied, "Probably not exactly like mine."

How easily and simply he spoke to Jester. How much every word had been torn from him when he'd been forced to speak to a drow.

"You'll keep watch?" Essek said to Oreth, instead, turning to face them. They nodded. It was a good role they played, pretending to be as stupid as people assumed them to be, when you were as large as them. Like he could be naive and confused, around seven adventurers.

He gestured with a hand and pulled open the door. The dimly-lit hallways of his mansion melted into the darkness of the dome around them. "After you. Make yourself comfortable," he said. Fjord went first, then Jester, Beauregard, with a look back at Caleb. Yasha, Caduceus, and Veth.

Caleb stood there in his jackets and scarves, alone from his party. His eyes flicked from Essek to Oreth and then to the door and them through another cycle.

"Essek," Caleb said, softly. Like he had done in the marsh, touching Essek's arm to get him to teleport them twenty more feet. Like he had done in the boat, reaching into Essek's chest and twisting his heart. "How strange fate is, pulling us together, like this. We are very grateful to see you.” How good - warm - it felt to be angry. How familiar it was. He thought about all the tutors and his mother and the Bright Queen who had never understood. How Ludinus and his lackeys - Ikithon, DeRogna - had patronized him. How Caleb had hollowed him out and left him to be filled with mud.

"It's nice to see you too," he said, "And it will be even nicer inside."

Caleb did not quite smile, but tension in his face eased. He walked into the door.

Oreth's eyebrows went up. They lifted their claws and twisted them in the secret language of the Lens. 

It better've given you something good to get that close, they signed.

Essek wrinkled in his nose in disdain, hearing Oreth chuckle as he closed the door behind him.

The gently-lit hallways of dark decor met him with comfort. He kept the place elegantly furnished. Simple, yet appealing. He'd set a nice gathering space just after the foyer, already commanding the servants of the mansion - drow in Shadow livery - to set out food. Pastries, of course. Wine. Actual food, for the rest of them.

He handed his winter clothes to appearing servants and set his feet gently on the floor. _You don't have to float around us, man,_ Beauregard had said, so he wouldn't. The stillness of the foyer, interrupted only by the soft flickering of the candles, settled his chest. With another breath he walked down the hallway and into the gathering space, the long center table stacked with food, other couches and divans spread around. The Mighty Nein were all sitting together, eating, talking about their adventure - artifacts and a giant baby monster and threshold crests. 

"I must confess that you are the last people I imagined to be here," he said, sitting at a remaining chair and pouring himself a glass of wine. He sipped it, because they would expect him to, wouldn’t they?

They ended the conversation and all turned to him. "You're kind of a surprise yourself," Beauregard said.

He carefully managed wry amusement. "It cannot be so strange, a student of the arcane such as myself, sitting next to the archaeological dig site of a magical civilization."

"Don't you have minions for this?" Jester asked, when she'd finished her donut, "You hate the cold."

"Not anymore. The minions, I mean. I still hate the cold." A pause. "Previously, much of the investigation here was left to private enterprise with a few supervising Dynasty eyes, but Her Majesty now believes that is no longer suitable given that we expect the war to resume. She would like to be prepared with whatever weapons that are here, and she would like even more for the Empire not to have them. So she has sent someone she believes is loyal --” He caught Beauregard’s cynical eyebrow and nodded in response, “-- as well as powerful, with a strong understanding of magic and magical artifacts, to supervise a more closely-sponsored effort.” 

"So why can't you leave?" Fjord asked. 

"Everyone in this outpost reports to me, presently. It would be fairly disruptive to not be where I need to be at scheduled times. Unfortunately, as I'm sure you're aware, the arcane fields here do not permit me to teleport back and forth."

"That stuff doesn't actually matter, though," Caduceus said, "And this does."

Essek turned to face Caduceus. He had decided to grow a beard. It was a good choice, in this weather. "If you can convince the Bright Queen, I would be happy to come with you," he replied. "But until then, my obligations to the Dynasty are first.”

“How long does she think until the war resumes?” Caleb asked. His face was looking even darker than usual. How much he loved his country. How could he be so intelligent and yet be handicapped by something so senseless? 

“A few years, maybe,” he responded, “A night’s rest to a drow, and a blink, to the Bright Queen.” 

Caleb pressed his lips together tightly. His hands came up in a familiar way, to squeeze his forearms. Elaborate clockwork evidently turned in his mind.

"Essek," Jester said, "Have you ever heard of the 'Eyes of Nine'? Or the 'Nonagon? Or the ‘Somnovum’?”

He turned from Caleb to her. She also looked different. Older, that was it. A line more at the corner of her mouth, horns more twisted. Did his eyes deceive him? 

He put it aside. Instead he let a smile form in the corner of his mouth. "Is this another counting joke based on your number?"

"I wish," Veth said.

Beauregard told the story about their friend the dead tiefling, and Aeor, and this city, and, yes, nine eyes.

He thought, first, how majestic and awesome it must be, in the astral sea. How deadly and horrifying. He knew something, about all-consuming hunger, and the addiction of - from - to - power.

What was it like, in those final seconds, as Aeor crashed to the ground, and this Sonovum pulled power into themselves and became one with it, ravenous and massive? What must it have been like, to surpass a physical form? To be past pitiful things like solid space and time and the very power of the gods themselves? 

What he would have given to know. His chest pulsed with it.

And this Lucien, or Molly, as they sometimes called him, sought to return it. It was a terrible thought, to imagine this thing coming for him. Coming for the Conservatory. Coming for Ludinus. If it had escaped the gods, it would crush them like rat bones. 

Yes, it had to be stopped, or diverted, or leeched from. It was a challenge, and he was not yet powerful enough to defeat it. 

At the end of the story he was quiet, looking down at a plate he'd filled with food he had barely touched. 

There was a hole in the story, as clear as an eclipse. 

Did they expect him not to notice, or did they expect him not to ask? Should he have pretended not to notice? But there it seemed so unlikely they had dropped a detail unintentionally, and at least he deserved the reward of asking.

He took a sip of wine, considering all these approaches. "While I know you all to chase small threads into this incredible story, I still find myself amazed, that you came all this way to track your friend, who maybe was a new person. You seemed more confident of the person you’d get, with Yasha.” 

Yasha looked away; so she was still ashamed of when she had been abducted during their Lotusden escapade. The rest of them looked at each other, quite obviously trying to decide how to explain, or maybe to brush over it like it wasn’t obvious he’d seen the missing detail. There were always secrets, he thought. He didn't smile, of course; that would be the wrong facade. He was puzzled. 

"Did you ever work with Vess DeRogna?" Caleb asked, cautiously. Oh, this was an interesting missing thread, wasn't it?

"She was there, sometimes," he said, which was enough. She had been at least less loathsome than Ikithon, less impressive than D'aleth. She had looked at him like he was an escaped menagerie beast. "She always had an interest in Xorhas."

"Well," Fjord said, slow, "She hired us to be her bodyguards."

Essek didn't startle, but he let the frown creep over his face.

"We weren't very good at it," Yasha said.

Oh, he thought, and had to try very hard not to smile. "I assume she is .... not among us?"

"Yeah," Veth said, "That's accurate."

What a fascinating bit of knowledge. A dead Assembly archmage, one who had been pursuing leads in Xorhas. He carefully wrapped his glee up in a small cloth and secreted away in his chest for later.

The Bright Queen might move up her plans, if she knew. She might assign him to do something related to the war and not something here, where he needed to learn more. Not only about the artifacts, of course, but also about this ravenous city. He kept that all to himself. 

Instead, he kept the matter on the task at hand. "I could imagine artifacts like this could be a thread she would pursue. So you're picking up where she left off. She knew about this city as well and was looking for artifacts related to it?” 

"Yeah," Caduceus said, "That's the right sound to it."

What else was there to say? Oh, yes. They would expect him to put them first, to ignore whatever duties he had, to be at their beg and call. So he was. "Well,” he said, forking a bit of roast meat and giving himself a moment to chew, “Whatever I can do to help--- please let me know.” 

"Thanks, Essek," Jester said, "We knew you'd help out."

Of course I am, he thought, and of course you did, too. He offered a nervy little smile to strange-older Jester, and took another sip of wine. Then he gathered himself, considering. "I will look through my library here, and I will also message my Shadows back at Rosohna to see if they can assist you further with the Conservatory. Please, feel free to stay here, or if you have pressing business please return - both this dome and the mansion should permit you."

"Do you have a bathtub?" Beauregard asked.

He nodded. "There are quite elaborate baths in the door behind you, down the hallway, and through the door on the end."

"Sounds nice," Yasha said, pushing her plate aside and gathering back up her jacket. She seemed different, Essek thought. Lighter, perhaps? As opposed to Caduceus, who felt heavier.

They all asked for something different and he provided everything that he could, because they liked to take and take and take, and of course it was his role to give and give, so he did.

Caleb was last. He was entirely certain Caleb would ask to see his library, and then he did. Because of course this ex-Assembly wizard - not even ex-, at this point, having just worked for an assembly archmage, and following this path in her footsteps - could simply have access to the greatest mind of Rosohna. All for a touch. For that gaze. For those words.

Venom burned in his veins.

"It would be my pleasure, Caleb," he said, standing, "Come with me." 

They walked down another corridor lit with small blue fireballs in sconces against the walls. For him it was a well-travelled space, but even so it was sparsely decorated with the occasional table that held some knick-knack or another. Verin had had a lot of opinions, and he’d added a few, just to get him to stop offering new suggestions.

At the end of the hallway were a set of double doors. Essek was proud of his design for them; how they seemed to stretch unbelievably tall, even though the walls on either side were a reasonable height; the carved sigils in the black wood, intended to be studied only for the investigator to learn they all meant nothing; the elaborate brass handles, carved beautifully but unpleasant to touch, that felt heavy and cold no matter what the temperature it was. They were not like any of the other doors in the mansion. Caleb waited a few steps behind, looking even more tense than Essek remembered. He must’ve been planning every word. 

“Take my hand, please,” Essek said, and held it out. 

Caleb stared at him for a moment, confused.

“Entering the library is a little more complicated than the rest of the mansion. Many of the expedition members are permitted here, but I think it would be unwise to give them access to what I’ve brought without making sure I’m supervising them.” 

Caleb’s brow knit, furrowing deeper than usual. He reached out and took the offered hand after a moment; Essek found himself caught off guard at how warm his hand was - it managed to be rough in places and soft in others, and the broader dimensions of his human palm should not have been an unexpected surprise. 

All of a sudden Caleb must have suddenly realized. “The library is not in the mansion. You have brought your entire library with you, not just what you’ve thought and replicated here.” 

“It would be a much less impressive library if it was only what I could remember,” he said. Caleb did not squeeze his hand, as he thought might happen, but kept him only loosely, that he could escape if he wanted. Oh, Caleb would never let him escape without expecting him to return. 

Essek put his other hand on the handle, feeling the unpleasant texture of the carved designs. Magic hummed, recognizing him, and he pulled the door open. Despite the size, it slid open noiselessly, with barely any effort. 

A lightless void waited on the other side. He heard the rasp of breath from between Caleb’s lips, and, trying not to smile to himself, took a step into it. 

On the other side of the darkness was another foyer, bare other than red carpet on grey stone. As opposed to the stone walls to their right and left that bore black candelabras, the wall in front of him indicated a dead end, and it was made of rough shale and carved with sigils. 

“This is very impressive,” Caleb said, softly, next to him, “Your mansion has more than one entrance.” 

“I find it useful to carry my library with me,” he said. Caleb had not let go of his hand. Let him think he needed to keep it. 

“I can imagine how it might help.” 

He brought his hand up and twisted it in a series of gestures. The familiar hum of dunamancy rippled on his skin and surged in his spirit. At times like this he often thought about first discovering just how easy the magic was for him to touch, and the revelation that everyone else struggled. How strange it was that they couldn’t just reach out and cast. How much they had resented him, when they had been the fools. 

A twitch of his finger and the slab of wall slid upward, revealing the room behind it. Essek walked under the slab, feeling Caleb move with him, and then dropped it down, equally as quietly, behind them. 

He felt the alarm go off in the nape of his neck, alerting him to an intruder. The intruder, of course, was still holding his hand, taking it in in his typical quiet fashion. 

It was unassuming, at first. There was a workdesk made of dark wood, covered by a lid that bore black carvings, and an upholstered chair pushed under. The walls were stone, lit with balls of soft blue light that hovered in place. There was a side table with a closed drawer against one wall that held a place for any miscellanea he might bring, though he had none at this present moment. Caleb, at least, would have felt the high, soft pull of the purple rug adorning the floor, which had been woven with swirls of grey and lavender.

He let go of Caleb's hand, registering and setting aside the faint resistance, and sat in his chair. Fingers moved in long-memorized patterns, disarming locks and traps. The last one on the delicate black lock that kept the lid closed, which he clicked open with a key from his pocket.

A tap and the lid slid back in the carved groove it fit in, and then the back wall rolled down as well, as if it was a scroll and not stone. Instead of the wall there was now an endless blackness - the room hung off into the void, and in the void there was a series of cubes of various sizes holding different quantities of books, all hovering various heights and relationships to each other. There was one cube closest to him, that was within reaching distance as he sat at the chair. The rest pushed back, up, and to the left and right, into the endless blackness in front of them. His eyes traced invisible patterns between the cubicles. No matter how many times he looked at it, it was comforting again and again. 

A beat and he looked at Caleb in the corner of his eye. Caleb was staring, evidently forcing his jaw not to hang. His eyes were tracking from one hovering cube to another, trying to make out the pattern in which they currently rested.

There was no noise in the room other than them; if he focused he could hear Caleb breathing.

"What were the topics you were interested in, again?" Essek asked, reaching for a panel lit with an arcane sigil.

"Ah," Caleb said, coming to stand next to him, slightly unsteady on his feet. Yes, Essek thought to himself - it is spectacular, isn't it? This is what you do, when you stay in one place. When you aren't traipsing across the world, chasing strange monsters and proclaiming the return of ancient horrors, and dragging self-respecting wizards into alien light and leaving them to burn.

"Caleb?" he asked, a bit firmer.

"My apologies - I was just -- this is a very marvelous space."

"Thank you,” he said, and ignored the twist in his stomach. He knew better, about that twist. That twist left him on a boat with his head in his hands. 

"Nonagon," Caleb said, "Somnovum. Cognouza. Eyes of Nine.” 

“And these are in relation to Aeor?” 

“Yes.” 

He touched the sigil under his hand and felt the warm of the magic that hummed from it. Caleb made an evidently partially-held-back gasp behind him.

The various shelves had begun to shift like gears, different cycles of them moving in different patterns. In some places one small shelf would link into another cycle and that cycle would begin to move on a slightly different angle, changing the contents of one particular circle to add or remove a shelf. Eventually the cycle nearest the desk began to move, until the shelf of books directly on the desk had been replaced with a different shelf.

When all the shelves had stilled again, Essek took the books from the new shelf and studied them. There were only three of them - he thought longingly of the conservatory - and they had all been rebound by him with black bindings and coded script along the spines. He'd been working on rebinding all of the books, at least the ones that seemed he could do so, before the Mighty Nein had appeared at all.

What a different and strange life it had been, and yet it had only been a few months ago. He'd not even known such people could have existed. He knew, of course, that you could so easily warp a person, and leave them to suffer with poisons - but to have it done to him, and in such a unique and loathsome way --

"I suppose you don't have much company here," Caleb said, "But I feel very honored to see such an extraordinary work."

"Thank you," he said. A gesture and a chair appeared at the end-table, which was the only sitting surface other than the desk. "Here are the easily accessible options that I have on those topics. There may be a few more in the supplies of the camp. Did you have a preference, for which one you would like to review?"

Caleb took another step to study the books on the desk. His warm hand found Essek's shoulder, looking over him to study the black bindings. There was a brief moment that Essek savored before Caleb spoke again.

"I feel like a burden, but 'I need ten minutes, to be able to read these."

He thought: what did you expect, Caleb, that all the books on Aeor would just be written in common?

He said, "That's no problem at all. Before you do so," he said. "The first one is about common ancestries of arcane societies and orders with a number of hypotheses that begin or stretch through Aeorian society, although I find some of them a bit strange. The other two contain passages and references to Aeor and Aeorian societies that you might find relevant, though they are primarily about other arcane topics.” 

"I'll try the first one," Caleb said, and Essek handed it over.

A twitch of his own fingers to make the text readable as well. He had reviewed these texts a number of times since coming here, but never looking for whatever the Mighty Nein were looking for. Naturally, now that they had arrived, all other things came second.

It was a useful moment to study his fellow wizard, while he was in the middle of his spell. He was different, from the last time they'd spoken. The spellbook, now visible with the heavy winter coat removed, was thicker than ever, along with the other tome that he carried. Winter clothes, of course.

He was different, in a way. Something - somethings, Essek wagered, given the Mighty Nein - had happened to him. Something had straightened his spine, and something else had pressed him down. A little more handsome, with his hair growing long and the red beard protecting his face, Essek thought, despite himself, imagining Oreth's long-tusked disapproval and deciding not to smile.

After a moment he knew what it was: Caleb seemed tempered now, and chipped in new ways. His old suffering, which Essek had read from him immediately, was different from this. He had passed through some trials and come out knowing new things and struggling with different challenges. Not just whatever the Mighty Nein thought threatened the world today, but something personal. Such things were easy to manipulate someone with, when you knew what they were. Caleb, more intelligent than your typical drow noble, kept those kinds of things close to his chest. 

As Caleb’s spell finished, Essek felt the faint static in the air of magic taking place, and he watched in idle entertainment as Caleb opened the book. It was a mesmerizing sight: a bit of red hair falling out of his ponytail and into his face, the stillness of scarf ends on the end table. The focus emenanted off him like the hum of magic when great spellwork was done. 

He was angry that he was expected to reread this, when what he would have vastly preferred to do was study Caleb Widogast. With a resigned sigh he turned back to the book he had selected and began the search for the Mighty Nein’s new terms. He took some notes on a sheet of scrap paper, and they switched books after a while, and then again. They re-cast their spells.

There was an unexpected gasp, when Caleb opened the last one.

“Did you find what you need on the first page?” he asked, unable to restrain his curiosity. 

“I recognize the language,” Caleb said. There was a strange moment of pause, as Caleb thought, and then he closed the book. What was it? Shame? No--- Caleb Widogast usually carried plenty of shame with him, and this was something new. It was hard to tell, and then Caleb was talking again. “My people - not just of the empire, but the lands that I am from, are the Zemni fields. My bloodline is descended from the great floating city of Zemniaz, from before the Calamity.” 

“Fascinating,” Essek said, waiting for the point. Caleb never disclosed anything about himself without a point. 

“The language of this book is old Zemnian - the ancestor of my native tongue.” 

What to ask next? The Calamity had been a long time ago, by the human timescale. Whatever powerful arcane blood Caleb’s descendants had would have been sufficiently watered down, although Caleb was even now a very, very capable wizard. Caleb would want him to be curious, even though there was little discussion to be had about families. 

Certainly Essek did not want to get into a conversation about his family. Zemniaz? No, he was supposed to care about Caleb specifically. 

“Do you think an ancestor of yours may have written it?” he asked. 

“Perhaps,” Caleb said. It had not been the point, which Essek privately chastised himself. Caleb seemed not to care about this imagined ancestor-wizard. Caleb’s diamond-edged focus seemed to have dulled, then, sliding away from the topic. Another breath and Caleb looked down at the book and then at him again. Come to a decision, about something. Resolved.“I feel -- that I am overstepping, but - how did you come about this?” 

Ah. So it was about finding more of this. First Caleb came to him pleading for his help to stop one Arcanum city, and now he was looking for tomes about another. For a man who had just begged him to focus on making the world a better place - whatever that meant, but Caleb hadn’t explained before running off, had he? -- he certainly had interesting goals. 

Essek felt a brief flash of smug warmth in his chest. It had become pretty clear, how Caleb felt about the Assembly, especially D'aleth and Ikithon. There was some sufficient history there. He kept the smile to himself. “Ludinus D'aleth traded it to me during our research on the Luxon Beacon for some Dynasty material.” 

Essek could practically feel the steam coming from Caleb’s ears as digested his information. Caleb did not like Ludinus Da’leth - he had certainly been involved in some way in whatever had damaged Caleb enough to turn him into Caleb, even though Essek suspected that Ikithon had been the primary driver. But he had willingly taken on work with Vess DeRogna - who could not have been further from a saint herself - and was now continuing whatever she had been investigating…

“Thank you,” Caleb said, and turned back to the book. Essek waited a moment, to see if there was more, and then almost wanted to laugh, when there wasn’t. He went back to the last book he was supposed to look through, though it was hard to pay attention to it. How could anyone pay attention to anything that wasn’t Caleb, right now? It seemed an impossible blessing, that first he was standing next to an archeological treasure trove of magical artifacts, and second was alerted to some sort of magical astral city that could be brought to heel, and, like perfect tea after dessert, got to untangle Caleb Widogast’s history with the Cerberus Assembly. 

Finally, Caleb folded the book closed and stared at it. Essek, having been finished for a little while already, watched him out of the corner of his eye. What struggles went on in that mind? What did he think, right now? What did he wrestle with? 

Caleb looked up from the book and turned his body fully to Essek, so that he was sitting sideways in the chair. “You have shared so much of yourself with me, and with the Mighty Nein.” 

Essek smiled, just a little. He placed the book he was reading back onto the hovering shelf. “Think nothing of it,” he said, as he was supposed to. They liked it, that their presence was such a gift, didn’t they? He imagined they thought he felt honored, that he again was inconvenienced by them. What more could a drow ask for? “It must be important, if you’ve come and are staying up here, free of DeRogna’s obligations.” 

Caleb nodded. He looked pained, more than usual. “I....” There was a pause, and then stood from the chair, with his typical deliberation. Seeming resolved, he came over to where Essek sat. “Ludinus must have so much to offer, to trade for the beacon.”

Essek gestured, the chair coming to rest behind Caleb. Caleb looked behind him, and then sat at it, his hands folded in his lap. He was very still, and in the silence of the library seemed paused in time. The hum of potential energy felt like a soft glow around him. He had some plan, Essek was sure, he had not yet set into motion.

Look at this struggling human child, he thought to himself. This struggling human child who thinks the solution to suffering is to suffer more, to find others who suffer and ease their suffering, as if those people you touch won't betray you or disappoint you or abandon you. This struggling human child who, for a moment, convinced him that that was _correct_ , that that was meaningful in ways study wasn't.

He reached out and put his hand on Caleb's knee. The leather pants he wore had warmed up in the temperature of his mansion and now the library, and the fine making of them was soft and smooth under his fingers.

"What is it?" he asked, softly, lowering his head to try and find those blue eyes, "What can I do?"

"I wonder what else the Martinet knows about Zemniaz, that he's shared," Caleb said. There was, for a moment, a waver in his voice, and then it became resolute in a potential-unfurling way - a plan into action. "I'm afraid I have no books to trade, but I am not unprepared."

Caleb put his hand over Essek's. His palm was as warm as the leather pant leg.

Essek knew immediately what it all meant, but he made sure to look puzzled for a couple of moments, because that seemed the sort of thing Caleb might like. In truth there was not a moment where he considered not accepting. He admired Caleb's body - Oreth's gentle ridiculing or not - and his mind, and certainly Caleb was cerebral enough to contemplate a good series of actions in one's bed. Then he got to combine with telling everything he knew of Ludinus to the Martinet's stubborn, powerful, determined enemy?

He nearly wanted to kiss Caleb right at that moment. It would be nice, to feel the texture of the red beard under his hands and nibble, just tenderly, on those lips.

Weak drow struggling with their moral compasses and trying to change the world in ridiculous ways probably would not have so readily agreed.

Instead, he nodded. 

"I think that is a very fair trade," he said. There was already a nudge of heat in his chest; he thought of vivid trance-dreams he’d had about Caleb Widogast from which he had come to, sweaty and aching. There had been daydreams he had explored, in particularly boring meetings, where Caleb undressed in his bedroom. 

At first, when Caleb and the Mighty Nein had left, he had waited up at nights, thinking Jester would message him updates on what they were doing. He had meandered past their house, looking for lights in the windows, indicating that they had returned. He had considered studying topics for him and Caleb in his tower, and then had practiced, in the mirror, ways that he might broach those topics. There had been discussions with caterers that he might need food for eight, if they returned.

There had been silence. There had been scrying attempts, obscured. Then one of them in Nicodranas, laughing. Another in Rexxentrumm. He had even thought to tell them he'd been assigned to this wasteland only to realize a month had passed and --

\-- wouldn't they have asked, if they cared? If he was their friend? If it had been meaningful, when Caleb had kissed his forehead?

He had many fewer daydreams about Caleb, after that.

He didn't need any catering or preparing questions in the mirror or laying out the finest silk sheets or answers to questions he thought Caleb might ask. All he needed was to know things Caleb didn't, and oh, weren't those things numerous?

Knowledge didn't touch your shoulder, delicate, apologetic about a poorly-explained teleport.

"Thank you," Caleb said, drawing his thumb along the top of Essek's hand. It was pleasant. He was not usually touched.

"Did you get everything, from these books?" he asked, adding effort into the way he tore his eyes from where Caleb's hand was on top of his, "Did you need to discuss it?"

"I have a good memory for what I read, if you want to move on," Caleb said. He had moved his leg to a slightly more open position, where it would have been easy for Essek to stroke up the inside of his thigh. Essek restrained the urge, but he squeezed Caleb's knee to make up for it.

"I do," he said, "Let me close up here."

Caleb stood, letting Essek's hand fall away from him, and Essek found he missed the warmth of it immediately. Setting himself to focus, he turned back to his desk and put the books back. Next, he reached for the cover, pulling it over the desk. The many shelves in their looping patterns were covered by the appearance of the stone wall, coming down from the infinite sky. By the time he was closing the lock on the desk and re-enchanting it with protective magics, they were again in a simple room, lit by blue torches on the walls and little else.

"There," he said. Caleb had put the chair under the end table and was waiting. Essek took a breath, supposing he should probably appear to steady himself for this, and lifted the stone wall that allowed access to the door that was the entrance back to the mansion proper. 

“I think discretion is not a bad idea,” Caleb said, as Essek opened the door back to the mansion. 

“Certainly,” Essek said, and resisted the urge to laugh with how easy it all was. Yesterday he had been complaining about the lack of access to his leylines and the dig had run into an issue with a massive spike of metal in the middle of their planned excavation, and two of their surveyors had been scared away by haunting noises, and he had stared out into the blizzard hating everything. Now Caleb was here and they were going to go to his bed and then afterward he would tell Caleb everything about Ludinus D'aleth, who they both loathed. 

They walked without talking through the hallway and then down another hall to his bedroom. He didn’t hear the noise of any of the other Mighty Nein, but there were sounds from the other Dynasty personnel, going and coming as they needed. He could imagine the Nein doing some sort of swindle on his archaeologists, but that was lower on his priority list. He couldn’t interrupt this moment, not right now. 

There were a number of doors in the hallway. Most lead into empty bedrooms, generic storerooms or other miscellanea; he knew which one was his bedroom and opened it. Inside there was the same dark wood paneling and furniture that was all over the mansion. There was a fireplace where a bright blue fire burned, and hanging over the fireplace was a large painting in a silver frame which depicted blinking stars connected to each other by impossibly delicate silver threads against a void. The bedroom door on the other side of the room was open. 

“Is it the dunamis?” Caleb asked. The crackling blue flames cast light upon his pale-red skin, casting him in, Essek thought, an absolutely lovely shades of purple. 

“Something like it,” he said, and went to a small table with a number of different bottles. He poured himself a glass. “Did you want some wine?” 

“I will have a glass.” 

He brought the two glasses over back to the spot in front of the fireplace. Caleb took a sip of his wine, and his other hand - the hand closer to Essek - lifted, touching his exposed forearm where the sleeve fell away. The touch was extraordinarily pleasant.

He should be kind about it, he thought. Naturally he would not wish to force Caleb -- this is the sort of thing the Mighty Nein would be insistent about. 

“If you don’t want to…” he said, trailing off. 

Caleb didn’t quite smile, but a touch of amusement lit his eyes. “I certainly want to,” he said, and this was not just about the trade, no, not that look. Those touches through their adventures, Caleb getting so close to him on the ship -- yes. It had not _just_ been about Caleb trying to convince him he was wrong. It was also that Caleb had a sensible desire for drow prodigies. 

“Me, too,” he said, and Caleb took another sip of his wine. 

“I have paintings like this in my tower, as well,” he said, gesturing to the dumanis painting over the fireplace.

“There are a lot of cats, I hear.” 

“Many. Not as good as Frumpkin, though.”

“Of course not.”

Caleb took another gulp of the wine and set the glass down on the stone mantle of the fireplace. He turned fully to Essek and, after a pause, took his hands. Caleb was a little taller than him, broader in the way that humans were. In the perfectly dim light of the room, he pondered the deep bags under those eyes, the hard-earned wisdom there. It wasn't the first time he'd wondered what had happened to Caleb, to make him the way that he was. People did not incidentally become like Caleb Widogast; they made themselves into it, or maybe were forged, regardless of their personal desire.

Caleb's hands found the buttons of his shirt, sliding them through the sewn holes along the right side of his breast. Even something so small was given the familiar Widogast intent. Caleb's winter clothes had clearly been tailored in the Empire, rather than by the Dynasty. That moment when they had been walking in front of his tower, in their similar clothes, talking about the future and the past.

They were just clothes, after all. Caleb had discarded his Dynasty apparel the moment it had no longer served him to blend in. He requested the clothes from his Empire tailors to go on his Empire mission and, oh, here was his Dynasty friend, just as he was needed.

He slid the shirt from Essek's shoulders to reveal the underlayer. His fingers were warm against his stomach, sliding under the thermal fabric. It was nothing like how a tailor or waitstaff might undress him after some court function. It wasn't perfunctory, that was it. Essek raised his arms to take the shirt off and Caleb's whole palms rubbed against him, warm skin on skin, a caress. Oh, he thought, letting his eyes close. It was vastly better than the daydreams, and even better because he heard as much as felt Caleb come even closer. His rough beard scraped across Essek's collar bone, bringing every inch of skin there to life.

He hadn't imagined that. He hadn't imagined that Caleb's lips would be chapped from the cold, bringing a unfamiliar texture to the kiss on his neck. Hadn't imagined the sound of it, audible, the slight wetness left behind when Caleb's mouth trailed up his neck. His head fell back, allowing even more space there, and Caleb took it, prodigy that he was.

He had the brief consideration maybe Caleb might have wanted to be asked, once or twice, that Caleb didn't mind doing this, but that was absurd. What was important was that Caleb's teeth were so tenderly scraping across his skin, and that his hands were wrapped around Essek's waist, their bodies pressed together.

What was important was that he feel Caleb's skin and not these Empire clothes. What was important was that he see Caleb's bare body, exposed for him, vulnerable. He reached, awkwardly, not wanting to have Caleb stop kissing him - that wonderful mouth having now reached the lobe of his ear, little nibbles that made his heart pound in his chest. Caleb's hands left his back, but the kisses didn't stop. Caleb's hands were unbuckling the holster he used to hold his books, and reluctantly he pulled away to put the holster and the closed books in a nearby drawer. He was back in an instant, finding Essek's hands and guiding them to the shirt clasps had had been grasping for. He smiled without meaning to.

"This deal feels unfair to me. I would give this to you for nothing," Caleb whispered into his ear, and his mouth was so close, breath damp.

Essek felt the shiver in his spine and the breath that involuntarily escaped him when Caleb's tongue teased over the folds of his ear. His fingers had to pause in their exploration and understanding of the clasps before resuming. "Ah," he managed, voice weaker than he'd intended, "You should never say no to a good deal."

"So I was taught." How Caleb touched him, exploring him so thoroughly. Fingers left trails of heat on his skin.

Finally Essek managed the last clasp, and then, terribly, the hands left him to shake the shirt off. There was an underlayer, of course, and for more than a moment Essek considered some nontraditional method of removing it that wouldn't have required those hands - that mouth - to leave him.

Unfortunately Caleb had already noticed the problem and was in a hurry to solve it, and there was an agonized moment where he was he was not being kissed or touched at all. He opened his eyes and thought to complain, only here was Caleb Widogast, shirtless and working on removing his pants, directly in front of him.

Essek had seen many beautiful things in his life, however short it had been so far for a drow. There was so much sublime spellwork that he had done and reviewed. The perfect configuration of arcane sigils fusing into a scroll. A plan perfectly executed, with everyone responding exactly how they should. He was amazed every time by the delicate lattice of leylines, by the elegant architecture of Rosohna and the magnificence of being lost in work that it seemed time stopped entirely.

And there there was Caleb Widogast, taking off his pants in Essek's bedroom. The leather leggings, the top layer, had already been cast aside, and now he was pulling off the underlayer, and Essek could see his underwear and pale thighs with a dusting of red hair. Those legs weren't muscular, but they were lean and fit - what happened when you went on mysterious adventures around the world, he supposed. There were scars, in many shapes and different levels of old, that Essek could guess at the origins. There was a shape in those underwear, too, clear that he could make out now, forming an obvious outline. 

Oh, did he hunger. A sharp breath filled his lungs as he looked up at Caleb, who stood, nearly naked. Caleb was watching him, thinking - oh, what he would have done to outline those thoughts with his tongue, with his fingers. There was hunger there, from the way he met Essek’s eyes, how those blue irises took in still-worn clothes with a hint of urgency, but there was so much more. 

“What are you thinking about?” he asked, unable to resist. Not that Caleb would tell him, of course, and they both knew that, but it was a pleasant illusion. Pleasant illusions were so important. Pleasant illusions like the strange travelers with the lost Luxon Beacon cared about it’s theif. Pleasant illusions like that the thief, burned once by the ruse, would believe it a second time. 

“You,” Caleb said, and then he took another step forward, reaching for the cord that held Essek’s paints at his waist, “And the Somnovum. And the Mighty Nein. And Ludinus Da’leth. And Trent Ikithon. And your wonderful library, and the books you shared with me, and what you might say, after, about all of those things.” 

It was more honest than he had expected Caleb to be, and yet he was sure it meant that was even more there, unsaid. What else could Caleb think about, other than those things? His dark hand found Caleb’s pale one, undoing the knot. “Could you not think about Ludinus Da’leth while undressing me?” 

Caleb did not quite smile, but his eyes lightened a fraction. “I will not think so much about him,” he said, “But you’re not doing a very good job of distracting me.” 

He couldn’t help but lift an eyebrow at that. “I apologize,” he said, and actually did smile this time, turning to look at the knot and flick it open with a practiced touch. He pushed down his underwear too, when he slid the pants down. He heard Caleb’s sharp breath and felt the buzz of pleasure in his body and, better, the tingle of delight in his spine. 

He took Caleb’s hands and put them on his chest, sighing as they spread heat through him. Caleb only needed a moment to start exploring - feeling the narrow lines of his shoulders, retracing the muscles of his back and letting his hands go further, curling around the round of his ass. Caleb was kissing him again, his neck and his jaw and his cheek, more urgent now. He could feel the press of Caleb’s desire against him through his underwear, and, oh. 

There was a decent number of drow that had been here before, touching him like this, kissing him like this. They were tolerable experiences, as a whole. He found it all so easy when it was members of the court, almost too easy to be fun. It was effortless to pretend that his youth equalled naivety, that he had been given this role only because of his mother. 

It was much different, with Caleb. There were some handsome members of the court, sure, but none were like Caleb, broad-shouldered, the whiskery beard scraping over his skin. Drow fucked differently than humans. Maybe the gods had cursed him to prefer the human way of fucking as a punishment, and here he was - having found a human to do just that.

“What are you thinking about?” Caleb asked into his ear, and then the wet tongue drew across it and for a second the plans fizzled like being attacked in the middle of your spell and then regathering your concentration. 

“How much I like how your body feels against mine,” he answered, which was entirely true. He discarded all the unnecessary nonsense about Rosohna and the drow court for the moment and focused entirely on this body, instead. Caleb licked his ear again and he had to pause to regain his breath. He reached down to find the ties on Caleb’s underwear, not bothering to stop them from trembling. Those, too, discarded with haste. 

He had to see. With reluctance he pulled away from Caleb to take him in. He was powerful, lean, old-scarred. Just as eager as he was, he noted with some satisfaction. Typically proportioned for a human. 

“What do you prefer?” Caleb asked, looking up and down him too, red tongue flicking over pink lips. He longingly wished for _detect thoughts_ , even though such a thing would be unbelievably rude. Caleb was no drow highborne. Maybe Essek could not have put the words in his mouth he had done so before, with others.

The question took a moment to process, with this magnificent body being a distraction. Certainly it wasn’t a question he was accustomed to being asked. He usually knew the answer already, when he was in these sorts of situations. What would Caleb have expected him to want? He would expect him to want power, to want control. Maybe he would feel appreciative, that Essek was taking the responsibility from him. 

Caleb would have wanted him to be more thoughtful about it. Caleb would have expected him to confirm such a thing. 

“What do you prefer?” he asked back, instead. 

“As it is your favor, I think you should choose,” Caleb said. He turned and walked to the bedroom door, pausing in the space between the rooms. This was art, the lines of Caleb’s back and the round of his ass framed by the dark wood of the doorjam. He turned back to Essek and waited. 

“I would prefer to give, if you don’t mind that.” 

“I don’t mind that at all.” 

Nothing like the drow highborne, he thought. None of them ever gave him the choice or the pleasure. He took another swallow of wine from their abandoned glasses and walked over. A giddy eagerness, unfamiliar, came over him, that he suppressed. He had not chosen to be Shadowhand, even if it had been useful. He had not chosen to come to this arctic hellscape, even if magical power could be found here. He had not chosen to lay in bed and think about Caleb Widogast. 

He chose this. 

Even though Caleb was taller, Essek wrapped his arms around him and pulled warm lips back down to kiss him, long. He was so _giving_ , Essek thought, with no small amount of delight. So giving of himself, of his body, of his terrible advice. Caleb’s hands were only loosely around his body now, just a place to put them. He pressed eagerly into Caleb, learning the shape of his mouth, memorizing the heat of it, breathing in his breath That giddy feeling was turning to hunger, he was sure. A tiny spark meeting tinder. Oh, he ached. 

He took one, two, three steps back into the bedroom and Caleb moved with him. In some ways they were still very alike, then, that Caleb, upon knowing what Essek wanted, immediately was contorting himself to do it. Essek thought about laughing, only he would have stop kissing Caleb to do it. 

The tall bedframe and the dark canopy around it stopped their movement. For a second Essek was irritated with it - should he wished it, he could have disappeared the bed without much more than a thought. Than he caught himself, feeling a bit ridiculous. Oh, how this human could blind him. How Caleb could make him insensate.

Caleb was sitting on the bed now, looking up at him and breathing heavy. His blue eyes were darker than usual, more intense. He was waiting so patiently, so obediently, that Essek almost didn't know what to do with himself. The pure rush of victory made him feel drunk. You've been crawling all over the plane and now you're desperate and in my bed, he thought. You could have stayed and we would have done so much together and learned and taught and become so powerful. We could have done this every night but you disappeared into the ether.

"I wish we would have done this earlier," Essek said, taking in that beautiful body once more. He gave Caleb another little push and Caleb shifted backwards on to the bed, almost to the center of it. A trophy, Essek thought. Caleb was a sparkling jewel in the dip of a satin pillow.

"There is always so much to do," Caleb replied, and Essek couldn't kiss him fast enough to get him to stop talking. Excuses, he thought, pushing Caleb onto his back, crawling on top of him. Distractions that stopped Caleb from taking what he should have, from reaching the heights accessible to him.

"When my business is done here, we should meet again in my tower. Study."

He didn't need to hear Caleb's response. He reached and wrapped a hand around Caleb's cock, resting against his stomach, and heard the man gasp. A symphony. Better than anything he could have said, honestly. Exactly what Essek wanted to hear. Caleb's cock felt wonderful in his hand, pulsing with life and heat. He memorized the texture of it, as lovely as an old spellbook. Caleb stopped kissing him back and moaned into his mouth instead,

"Essek," he groaned, low and hungry, and broad humans hands shook against Essek's sides, barely even holding onto him.

"That's all you need," he said into Caleb's mouth, drawing his fingers down the head of Caleb's cock.

Caleb nodded against him and it made the blood roar in his ears. He was right, of course, that he could have given Caleb so much, learned so much from from, taught him the ways of dunamancy during the day and during the night they could fuck like this, Caleb like an empty scroll beneath him to scribe pleasure. Caleb was trying so hard to be still under him and he could feel how he wished to squirm. Maybe Caleb wished to rock his hips into Essek's hand, quicker and quicker and --

For a second Essek couldn't breathe, thinking of it. He bit Caleb's lip with hunger and Caleb gasped, arching into him.

"Caleb," he said, and pulled away in one sharp movement. Caleb's eyes immediately focused on him, just a thin ring of blue in a black and white sea, and oh, Essek thought how it might be to have that body wrapped around his, and his fingers clenched tight against freckled skin. It was a moment before he could speak again and Caleb waited, staring at him.

Without a word he repositioned himself himself against the headboard of the bed, flicking pillows off the bed to make a comfortable space. With the curtains of the canopy closed his whole world was Caleb Widogast right now; it was absolutely intoxicating in the most dangerous, blinding way. For a moment he thought to gather his wits back but - why? Why, when his world was only Caleb, Caleb crawling on his hands and knees in the violet sheets, settling himself between spread legs, bending on his elbows to kiss Essek's stomach, warm licks and little bites just hard enough to make his skin spark. Why, when Caleb did not even need to be told, just bent his head and let that hot tongue move across the head of his cock. Why, when trickles of red hair teased his thighs, a surprised laugh spilling out of him at the sensation.

He didn't need anything else. He let his hands thread through Caleb's hair, let his eyes flutter shut as Caleb's mouth wrapped around him. He had to keep his eyes open; he had to watch, had to see how good it looked. His whole body ached with heat, and it was made so much better by taking in the long line of that pale back, muscles flexing. If he moved his head just the right way he could see Caleb's mouth wrapped around his cock, how he disappeared behind pale lips.

Caleb worshiped him so. Caleb knew just how to suck, how to lick, how to get so warm and so close with his mouth. All those weeks he'd waited, wondering. He certainly did not feel forgotten now, he thought, a breathless chuckle escaping. Oh no, there was nothing else in Caleb's universe now. Nothing but him.

"Stop," he said with a gasp, just barely keeping his head above the waves of pleasure that came with every touch and every lick and every suck. Caleb stopped, which brought pulse of pleasure. Caleb hovered there, Essek's cock resting on his tongue, and Essek was sure that every trance for at least the next decade would include this moment.

He gave Caleb's hair a gentle pull and felt the shudder go through him. That was something to be set aside for later, for some next time, maybe. Instead he watched his cock slip from Caleb's lips, red now, slick, and Caleb waited, watching him. Expecting an order, Essek thought, and he even let his cock twitch with the thought.

"What now?" Caleb asked. His voice was rough; he licked his lips and cleared his throat, for a moment Essek could only stare. He was glad of the canopy curtains that surrounded the bed, so he could imagine that this was not in his magical mansion in the middle of the tundra. He could imagine they were home. He could imagine they were in his tower, in Rosohna, that Caleb hadn’t dropped by on some hare-brained adventure. The thought cooled the heat in his stomach, and he pushed it away. He needed not to long for something else; he needed not to want more, to want partnership, teamwork. Nothing good came of it. 

He only needed the way this body listened to him, obeyed him. 

“I want you,” he said. Caleb was smart, like him, despite his failings. Caleb heard what he meant when he said it. A loud breath escaped those wet lips, still between his legs. 

“How?” Caleb asked, settling back on his haunches. Caleb’s cock was proud, red, damp at the tip, and he seemed not to notice it at all. All his attention was on Essek. It was dangerously heady, the sort of thing he should have been careful about, lest he never return. He should have been cautious about such heat and pleasure and power, but it was painfully hard to resist, when he had wanted Caleb for so long, when he had disappeared so abruptly. Teased in front of him like a toy on a string, or maybe it had been an illusion and had never really been there at all. 

Caleb was here now, and he was Essek’s. 

“Here,” he said, resettled himself against the headboard, patting his lap. Caleb didn’t understand for a moment, and then he did. How spectacular it was to watch that mind work. To see problems and come up with solutions, to hum on exactly the same frequency as him. 

"I need--" Caleb was saying, but Essek was already flicking a cabinet open with a flick of magic, a small, stoppered bottle floating across the air. Caleb snatched it out of the air as it would disappear, and Essek's whole body pulsed with another shock of heat. "Unless you--?"

"Please, go on," he said, not even bothering to hide the hunger in his voice. He hadn't daydreamed or tranced much of the technicalities, but that had been foolish, in retrospect. How magnificent it sounded, to have Caleb here, giving himself over. Preparing himself for Essek's body, to be used by him. Essek bit his lip and dug his fingers into his own thighs, resisting the urge to touch, to push. He wanted every bit of it to be Caleb's doing, Caleb's will. He wanted Caleb to have to choose, every moment, to keep going, to show him everything.

"Would you like to see?" Caleb asked, slicking his fingers with oil from the bottle and putting the stopper back on. As he leaned over Essek to put the bottle back he let his mouth trail up dark skin, even gave a nipple a gentle bite. Essek gasped, and then nodded after a delay. Caleb was deadly, in that way. Caleb could make him forget sense, could make him forget to think.

Out of all the things he'd seen in his studies he could think of nothing more spectacular than Caleb laying with his legs spread showing off every inch of his body. Such vulnerability and exposure, and every inch of it was for him.

Caleb had done this before, Essek was sure, watching his fingers slide in and out, stretch, hearing him moan. The way he attended to his own body was practiced; he knew his own pleasure. He wondered and then worked very hard to stop himself from wondering. All he wanted to do was thinking about this, right now; all he wanted to do was exalt in the fact that Caleb was doing it for him, right now.

"Please," Caleb said, and Essek tore his eyes away from where his glistening fingers slipped in and out of his body to that face, those blue eyes, staring at him, mouth sucking in loud breaths of air and spilling them out as moans. Essek thought for more than a moment to let him stay there, hang on the thread of desperate pleasure, make him wait and wait, like standing on a balcony in a tower looking into a forever night ---

But his body pulsed with pleasure and heat and his cock throbbed, and he reached over for the stoppered bottle again and made himself slick, settling himself once again against the headboard.

"Come here," Essek said, and Caleb was there immediately. Caleb had lifted himself up with his knees and hovered in his lap, waiting, so obedient. Caleb stared at him, eyes unable to stop hovering between his lips and his eyes and sometimes he would glance down, maybe imagining what it would be like to have Essek's cock inside him.

Essek took Caleb's face in his hands and stared at him and thought of other times and places, and then nodded and kissed him with intensity Caleb evidently did not expect. One of Caleb's hands was on his hip, stroking the bone under his skin, and the other steadied his cock.

Oh, the pressure, when Caleb's body met his, where there was resistance and then he was sliding inside. He forgot about the kiss, forgot about other places and times, other daydreams after imaginary study sessions, other ways Caleb could end up with him. He could only think of how it felt when Caleb's body clenched around his, tight, all heat. He couldn't stop himself from moaning, couldn't stop himself from wrapping his arms around Caleb's body and pulling him close. Caleb's mouth found his neck, like it had in the beginning, and Caleb's teeth and tongue pulled more moans from him. Oh, how Caleb could pull from him, expertly. How Caleb could see in and through him in ways other people couldn't, in ways other people didn't.

How it felt, Caleb all-encompassing.

"More," he gasped out, and Caleb slid deeper into his lap, and he heard Caleb's gasps in his neck, half-swallowed by the way he licked and sucked at Essek's skin.

"Fuck," Caleb said, and his words were different, accented -- his home tongue, Essek had just enough sense to recall, oh, yes, the spell from the books -- "You feel so good, Essek. I've thought about what you might be like when you need, about your heat and your moans. Wondered what it might be like to make you writhe with ecstasy. So much that I could see you. It’s better than those dreams. Extraordinary.”

Caleb took him in a little further and,without intending to, he scraped up Caleb's back. To his surprise, Caleb moaned, nodding against him. "Yes -- like that -- " Caleb said, so he did it again, imagined the red lines he was making. The breathless laugh was a gasp. Caleb was moving and moving and moving in his lap, body slipping up and down, and Essek could do nothing but let his head fall back against the headboard and allow it to happen to him. That was how it was, with Caleb. No matter what he did, or said, or tried, Caleb overwhelmed him like a spell that got out of his control. Those were the things that could pick him up and toss him against the wall like a ragdoll: rogue magic and Caleb Widogast.

"Caleb," he gasped, as Caleb worked him over with ruthless, relentless energy, twisting that coil of pleasure within him tighter and tighter until he thought the clockwork within it would shatter. Every thrust, every shift, every lick, as a new starburst of pleasure within him. It felt like drowning in the best way, and he could do nothing but hunger for more of it, scraping his fingers up and down Caleb's back and listening to him gasp.

"Essek," Caleb said, equally as breathless. He could feel the sheen of sweat that Caleb had from his efforts - could smell him, human, distinctly - effort and sex and energy, "I want to see all that ice you keep around you absolutely shatter. I want the shards of it to leave me bleeding. Will you leave me with part of you? So that I can carry you wherever I go? Give me your power, your spirit. Wind us together like threads. Do this favor for me.” 

"Yes," Essek gasped, and oh, that had not -- occurred to him -- the thought that on whatever brainless adventure Caleb might go he would think -- he would know --

"I will remember this," Caleb said, and Essek could barely breathe to think of it, "Going to remember how it felt to ride you in your bed, in your mansion."

"Caleb," he moaned, and it was even hard to grasp at Caleb at that point, his hands shaking under the onslaught of words, of feelings, of sensations and touches and ---

"Mark me, Theylss," Caleb said, and Essek found that he could do nothing but obey. Caleb clenched around him, milking him through it, and Essek couldn't see but the stars exploding behind his eyelids. His whole body was heartbeat-pulse of sensation, vibrating through his toes and through the tips of his fingers and Caleb was a whirlwind around him, pushing and pushing and pushing, and finally there was nothing left and he was boneless with exhaustion, panting and trying to turn his vision from something other than a spinning pale blur on a dark background.

With unimaginable effort he forced himself to see straight, and there he was, still. One of Caleb's hands was stroking his cock and Essek couldn't look away from the way the red, damp head appeared and disappeared in the lock of his fist. Caleb's other hand, he only now noticed, was dug into his shoulder, keeping himself steady.

"Just like that," Essek heard his mouth say, before he meant to. Then, more intentionally, "I like it when you pleasure yourself with me still inside you. It looks good. Keep doing it. Spend yourself for me."

Caleb nodded in agreement and looked up at him without his hand stopping. Essek reached down and wrapped one dark hand around that furious pale one and Caleb nodded, quick. His jaw strained and his eyes squeezed shut and then with a groan Essek felt him spill hot between them. He kept stroking through the orgasm as Caleb moaned, his head falling onto Essek's shoulder.

He left the sticky hand in Caleb's lap, the other stroking his heaving side. Caleb shifted, and Essek winced at the cold shift as their bodes separated. For a moment Caleb was just there, encompassing him in the way that only Caleb could, and then Caleb gave him a kiss on his neck and with a little effort rolled onto the bed next to him. 

It was cold without Caleb’s body there, but with a flick of magic he warmed the room just a little more to compensate. He raised a hand and both of their glasses of wine were there, hovering, when he lifted the canopy. 

"Thank you,” Caleb said, taking a healthy drink from his and putting it on the bedside table next to him. Essek took him in, sweaty and red with exertion and smeared with white in some places. His chest rose and fell, quick at first but evening out. His broad hands came up collect his hair and put it back in the tie that held it out of his way, much of it still hanging in his face. 

Essek watched Caleb out of the corner of his eye. His body felt strange, warm and easy, still buoyed the post-orgasm hum under his skin, feeling the ache in his thighs. He put the glass down and stretched his legs out, feeling a strange, tickling touch across his thigh. There, nearly invisible against his skin, was a long red hair. He studied it, watching the strand of it glimmer in the dim light of the bedroom, then handed it back. “You forgot something.” 

“Ah, yes,” Caleb said, and took the hair back, and then tucked it along with all the others into the tie that held his ponytail, “That one I was especially fond of.” 

“I didn’t mean to seem greedy,” Essek said, teasing. 

“Given how much you traded, I think a few hairs is more than fair.” 

He recalled the deal like spiders crawling under his skin. How it prickled, sharper and harder than the sensations of his body. It wasn’t cold, exactly, but it was invigorating like a cold bath could have been, bringing all his sense back to the forefront. He closed his eyes and heaved a sigh, taking stock of his body. 

Next to him, Caleb sat up to to rest himself against a pile of pillows and winced, and then twisted to look down at his back, at the broad red scratches that traced up and down his skin in disorganized patterns. 

Essek thought he should apologize. Caleb might like that. He took another drink of wine. “I didn’t mean to scratch so hard,” he said, “But..” 

“I hope that’s not true,” Caleb said.

“It’s not true,” he admitted, if Caleb didn’t mind that. He smiled, since that seemed acceptable, “And if you liked it I would scratch harder.” As if there would be another time, when Caleb would drop by looking to trade. 

“I would like,” Caleb said. He seemed to find a comfortable arrangement and settled, quiet, taking sips from his wineglass. 

An spot of anger flared. Caleb looked so comfortable in his bed. “You know,” he began again, because it was a deal, so he should fulfill it, and because it was a distraction, and because it would stop Caleb from looking like he belonged, “I had actually requested to study the beacon a few times, through proper channels, but as you can imagine the process is complicated.” 

It worked. Caleb said, “I can imagine,” and sat up, looking at him with renewed, different interest. “Do you know how Ludinus came to know about them, to begin with? What else did he share with you from his private stores?” 

“Some other things,” he replied, “Even for an elf, Ludinus has been around for a long time. It’s not impossible for him to have come across one in Moleasmyr.” 

“Did you have the idea to study with him, or did he?” 

“I did. I thought he could provide me a space to do my studies in secret. He provided a great deal of the resources I needed to steal the beacon and bring it to his secret study in the Ashkeepers.” 

“What a useful thing to have, to do research you don’t wish to have interrupted,” Caleb said. 

“Very much so,” Essek agreed, “He was generous in how he allowed me to access it’s great capabilities. That was before he shared it with Ikithon and the rest of the Assembly.” 

When Caleb asked questions they were focused, targeted. He knew what he wanted to find out; it was wonderful, in a way. It was familiar, intent, strategic - felt like studying. Oh, how he enjoyed studying with Caleb and, he could admit, it was better when he was naked. While he knew beforehand that he was about to share with Caleb things he’d never told anyone before, it was different to actually do so. Freeing, in a way that seemed strange but also fascinating and addicting, and also transgressive, which was more familiar. He talked about their studies in the Ashkeepers tower, and what Ludinus had told him about his history, and the things they’d discovered - and finally after that. 

“I arrived at the laboratory one day and the beacon was gone,” Essek said, and even now he could remember how he felt. Confused, at first. Panicked, that their research had been discovered. 

_“I transferred it to my study in the Candles, for some additional investigation,”_ Ludinus had said, as placid as always. 

He hadn’t at first realized the point of the move. He had asked so many good natured questions about tools and follow-ups on their experiments and the sharing between them of the resulting data. It had only been at the end of the conversation had he realized -- 

_“What should be the arrangement for me to study it?”_ He’d asked, because obviously Ludinus would have planned a way for him to avoid Empire eyes, so that they could research it together. 

_“You should come around to do so when it’s convenient,”_ Ludinus had said, and at that moment Essek had realized, and Ludinus must have seen it, and without a change to his expression, said, _“Would you anticipate trouble?”_

“And that is the end,” he said, grimacing. The hum of post-orgasm was fading away, and he was angry again, thinking about Ludinus. He hadn’t even had the decency to look smug about it. Essek had asked a couple of times, and even demanded, to have the beacon back. Ludinus had always been so calm about it. Come over whenever, he’d say, as if there weren’t ten thousand obstacles. 

Essek had been more focused, after that, on the Bright Queen’s obsession with getting the Luxon Beacons back from the empire. The Bright Queen had noticed and complimented him on his renewed passion to the faith, even. She had brought him even more into her inner circle. How they had panicked together, when Thuron and Uren had stopped responding to their messages. Essek had half-expected Ludinus to sell him out, but he hadn’t. 

Caleb’s hand not holding his glass of wine had clenched into a fist, He was staring into the red pool of his wine; Essek watched a muscle jump in his jaw. He wondered the precise reason that Caleb had come to hate Ludinus, even if he restrained himself from asking. It was easy to hate Ludinus Da’leth, once you knew what a spider he was. 

“I am going to excise that tumor,” Caleb said, with quiet ferocity. A lesser person might’ve not noticed the simmering rage that hummed just under his pale skin, but Essek saw it. 

How brilliant Caleb looked, so obviously scheming to unseat the most powerful and devious wizard that Essek had ever met. How daring and heroic he looked. Essek was reminded, forcefully, of him standing in the center of the throne room, holding the beacon high and the light of it making his face glow. The moments were different in so many ways, and yet they were also the same. 

What a fun and rewarding strategy that would have been to work on together. What a seductive and terrible daydream it was, to spend all day with Caleb strategizing on how best to murder Ludinus. Maybe Caleb would tell him more about how he came to hate Ludinus so much. They would have to both become stronger, and perhaps they’d need to do that together. They’d practice magic, craft new spells, and Caleb would ask all those excellent questions he had a tendency to ask - piercing right to the heart of the matter. 

Essek tore his eyes from Caleb and took in his own wine glass. Here he was, still longing like an idiot. Here he was, after everything, after Caleb giving himself over, after Caleb being in his lap -- and all he wanted was the two of them in Essek’s tower studying. 

How easy it was, to feel his anger twist. _This is why you work alone_ , he scolded himself. _This is why take no partners, have no teammates. Let someone know you value something about them, and they’ll abscond with it._

What Caleb was going to do was leave with the Mighty Nein. 

Even so he reached out and touched Caleb’s arm. “When you do so, let me know. I would be happy to assist.” 

What Caleb did was shift, careful not to break the touch on his arm, and put the glass down on the bedside table. He looked at where Essek’s dark hand rested on his skin and put his own hand over it. 

“I would be very happy for your assistance, in that task,” Caleb said, squeezing his hand, “And if there is time after all this, we should study again. There is so much more about this place I’m sure you’d find fascinating.” 

No matter his anger and no matter how stupid it was -- How much he wanted.. How much he thought of them in the top floor his tower. Months-old, poorly practiced speeches in the mirror came to mind. 

“Come around again, when it is convenient to you,” he said, as placid as Ludinus could be. 

“I would prefer,” Caleb said, still holding him, “If you would let me know when you could best accommodate me.” 

He was rubbing his thumb along the back of Essek’s hand, still looking at him. It must have been a trap, to be accommodated, but Essek couldn’t see, or maybe couldn’t understand, the gears that turned behind his blue eyes at that moment. He had the light, warm, and almost unbelievable thought maybe there weren’t any. 

“I will,” he said.


End file.
